


Snuff the Rooster

by Miso



Series: A War He Can't Forget [1]
Category: SCTV (Canada TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, PTSD, Vietnam War, floyd has seen some shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10137644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miso/pseuds/Miso
Summary: War is hell.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, based on an idea from the wonderful BlossomTime, but a little darker than usual. Floyd was prime age to be drafted during the Vietnam War. He has seen some shit, my dudes. Title is (obviously) a reference to Rooster by Alice In Chains. Good thing Earl's here to make things a little more bearable for his bf. :C

It was freezing cold. The moonlight glittered off freshly fallen snow from the afternoon, every breath he took manifested as a cloud of smoky vapor, his hands shook wildly, and the branches of the trees, bare with winter's killing frost, cast shadows that looked like bony hands reaching for him in his anxiety and nicotine-riddled mind. He didn't care. It was better than being inside. Floyd lifted his fourth cigarette of the hour to his lips and lit it, trembling calming ever-so-slightly as he took a long drag. It never lasted long. He found himself shaking again. He wasn't sure if it was because of the cold or because of the panic attack. Probably both.

He'd been haunted for 16 years by the memories he'd tried to block out. By guilt, by soul-freezing terror. He quivered and drew his knees to his chest as well as he could, both to provide himself with some grounding and to stay warm as he shuddered barefoot and shirtless, with just an open robe and flannel pajama pants to provide him with warmth. He hadn't had time to get anything else on. He had to get out of there.

"Let me sleep," he whispered to no one, burning tears pricking his eyes as he snuffed out the cigarette after just three hits. He put his forehead against his knees and rocked himself gently, like a terrified child. "Please let me sleep... Just one night..."

He was about to break into full blown sobs when the front door creaked open and the porch light flicked on. He jerked his head up and instinctively reached for his pocket, beginning to panic when he realized he'd left his pocket knife inside as well.

"Floyd?" A raspy, tired, but worried voice came from the doorway. Earl. Floyd stared at him, eyes wide like a rabbit who just realized the car hurtling towards it was, in fact, lethal. "Floyd, what are you doing out here...?" Earl asked with a yawn, stepping onto the porch and slowly approaching the huddled figure in the porch swing. At least he wasn't sitting in snow and getting even more frozen than he already was. "It's 2 in the morning..."

No response. Floyd just stared at Earl, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. A beat passed between them, and Earl whispered, "You had that dream again, didn't you?" Another beat. Earl gently extended a hand to Floyd's trembling form. Floyd, meanwhile, was staring at him like he couldn't figure out whether he should accept the help or kill him.

"It's alright. It's over. Come inside... it's cold." Earl kept his voice low and his hand extended. He had to be gentle. He'd made the mistake of panicking when this happened the first time and gotten clawed (no, not slapped, _clawed_ ) across the face in response. Thankfully it hadn't left a scar. "It's okay. I promise. I'm not going to hurt you."

Slowly, shakily, Floyd reached out for him and took his hand. Earl could have sworn he felt himself vibrating by proxy with how hard the poor guy was shaking. "There we go. It's okay... come on inside. Get warm."

Earl gently guided Floyd inside and sat him on the couch. "I'll be right back... take some deep breaths for me." Floyd stared down at the floor as Earl retreated into their bedroom, his hands tangled in his hair and pulling slightly. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. How was he supposed to take deep breaths when he felt like he was choking? He felt his heart pounding in his ribcage and his head spinning. This was what it was like to drown on dry land. He was going to die here. He was going to die here. He was-

"Floyd? Floyd, shhh, it's gonna be ok..." Earl had returned at some point. Hell, he'd sat down beside him and he hadn't noticed. "It's gonna be okay. I promise. Here." He offered Floyd a small, round, white tablet. Klonopin. He hated taking this shit but it usually stopped the panicking. That was all he wanted. Earl gently steadied Floyd's hands as he took the pill, then a drink of the water Earl had gotten him. "There... you're alright. You're alright. I promise you're safe." He rubbed gentle circles between Floyd's shoulders, his voice low and gentle. "I'm here. You're here. It's safe."

After a few moments passed, Floyd felt his limbs stop shaking and his heart rate slow. He swallowed hard and looked up at Earl, who gave him a sad smile. "Doing alright?"

"... I think so." Floyd rested his forehead against his palms, elbows on his knees, feet planted as firmly on the floor as he could manage. He tried to focus on the shag carpet between his toes and the gentle touch on his back. It wasn't 1962. He was home, in Melonville, in his house, in the year 1978, with his live-in boyfriend and co-anchor beside him.

He was safe. He was in those stupid green and purple pajama pants he got for Christmas from his brother one year and his favorite robe, the burgundy one with the faux fur lining. The carpet was neon orange, the knotty pine paneling on the walls was a dark brown, the curtains were cream colored and he was safe. He shuddered a little and took a couple of deep breaths.

"You alright?"

"Mmm."

"You need to be alone?"

"No!" Floyd's immediate response startled Earl a little bit. "No, please!" Earl nodded a little and settled himself against the arm of the couch, laying back. Floyd immediately curled close to him, resting his head on his chest. "Don't leave," he whispered, his voice strained. Earl shook his head softly and ran his fingers through Floyd's hair, gently.

"I'm not leaving. I won't go anywhere. Promise."

They were quiet for a while. Floyd kept his eyes closed and tried to focus on the rhythm of Earl's heartbeat and breathing. The soft thump-thump, thump-thump was something concrete to focus on. He was starting to doze off when a loud bang from outside startled him awake, causing him to sit bolt upright and look around in a panic.

"Shhh, shh, it's okay..." Earl wrapped his arms around Floyd and drew him close again, pressing his head to his chest as a distant voice shouted _"An' if'n I ever catch one of ya dang possums on my yard again I'mma cook ya in a stew!"_ and Earl sighed a little. "It's Mr. Polter across the street and the possums again. It's okay..."

It took a few more minutes, but Floyd slowly managed to work his way back down from panic attack number two. He focused on Earl's hand gently stroking his hair, then closed his eyes, took a shaky breath, and whispered, "I never told you about the dream, did I?"

"... You didn't." Earl continued gently stroking Floyd's hair, to keep him grounded. "I figured you would when you were ready. And if you never were that was fine too."

"I... I need to tell someone."

"... You sure?"

"Mhm."

"Alright. I'm listening."

Floyd was quiet for a moment. He bit his lip, and swallowed hard. "I... it was '62. My unit was in some fuckin' jungle, I don't remember where." He paused to take a deep breath. "I... we found a bunch of people. Just... hiding in a cave. From us, I guess. S-some of them looked hurt... it was mostly women and kids. Little kids." His voice cracked a little. "I... I guess one of the other guys figured out they were North Vietnamese, and..."

"Oh, Floyd..."

"They just... started shooting. Innocent women. Mothers with their babies. Blood everywhere. I didn't shoot."

"You didn't?"

"No. I... I just stood there. I watched it happen and I didn't do anything." Floyd trembled and closed his eyes, sobbing into Earl's chest. "I could have stopped them... I-I could have... I could've done something..."

"You really think you could have?"

"Th-there were BABIES, Earl! Little fucking kids!" Floyd choked and gripped Earl's shirt. "And... and every fucking time I have this dream there's this little girl, and one of the other guys just shot her mother, and now he's got the barrel of the gun against her head, and she just looks at me and she's sobbing but I can't fucking move and..." he cried out into Earl's chest again, his gentle grasp slowly becoming a white-knuckle.

Earl wrapped his arms around Floyd's shoulders and pressed his lips to the top of his head. "You couldn't have done anything, Floyd."

"HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?!" Floyd suddenly raising his voice was nothing Earl wasn't used to, but him outright screaming? That was different. "YOU WEREN'T FUCKING THERE!"

"No. I wasn't." Earl pulled Floyd closer and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, trying to soothe him. "I wasn't there. But I know people who were besides you." Earl rubbed Floyd's back gently. "You couldn't have stopped them. They wouldn't have listened."

Floyd hiccuped and opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a pathetic sob. Earl gently used the pad of his thumb to wipe away a tear. "They saw things like that, too. And they did try to say something. It didn't work. They couldn't stop it, either."

Floyd's face crumpled and he nuzzled into Earl's chest again. Earl stroked Floyd's hair again, trying to soothe him gently. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have done anything." Earl pressed Floyd's ear to his chest again. "Shhhhh. Focus on what you hear. What you feel. Not what you remember." A handy trick he'd learned from William B. the one time he'd seen Maudlin have a panic attack. 

Floyd's breathing slowly began to return to normal as he lay tense and trembling in Earl's grip. He hiccuped softly every so often- god, he hated that he always got the hiccups after he cried- but he didn't feel like he was going to die.

Eventually he managed to look up at Earl and whisper, hoarsely, "S-sorry."

"Don't be. You can't help it." Earl kissed Floyd's forehead again. "But... this is the fifth time this month. You... you might want to see someone."

"Mmnh. Maybe." Floyd shuddered and sat up, rubbing his exhausted, puffy eyes to get rid of the last of his tears. He swallowed, took a shaky breath, then stood slowly. He paused and turned to look at Earl, and muttered, "Your shirt is covered in snot. You might want to change."

Earl smiled a little and stood as well. "It's your shirt and your snot. It's not the first time, either."

Floyd felt a teeny smile cross his features despite himself. He leaned into Earl's side as they returned to their bedroom, curling into his side of the bed and wrapping the blanket around himself. He got cold after he cried, usually. That and the hiccuping were reasons he avoided it as much as possible, but god, if the fucking panic attacks didn't take it out of him.

Earl joined him momentarily, the tear and snot-soaked Foreigner shirt replaced with a cleaner Styx one. Floyd half smiled. "Quit stealing my shirts."

"You never wear them. Someone should."

Earl pulled Floyd close and protectively tucked him against his body. "I promise it's okay. I promise."

"... Promise?"

God, Floyd sounded so helpless. Earl kissed the top of Floyd's head and carded his fingers through his hair one more time. "Promise. It's gonna be okay."

"Mmm." Floyd nuzzled into Earl's neck and sighed weakly. "... I love you."

"I love you, too. Get some sleep."

Floyd slowly dozed off, some time after Earl did. For the first time in a week, he wasn't plagued with nightmares. He drifted in and out of slumber, flitting between black nothingness and calm dreams of happier memories, of moments he cherished, gave him something to cling to when he felt himself spiral out of control.

In the morning, he slowly opened his eyes, greeted by the sight of Earl sprawled out as he tended to be, mouth open and drool soaking into his pillow, snoring quietly but looking, for all the world, like he was at peace.

Floyd smiled a little, rested his forehead against his dozing partner's, and let himself go back to sleep. It was early. The sun had barely breached the horizon. Today was a new day.

Before he fell asleep again, he made a mental note to call the mental health facility in Elmdale. He didn't want to experience helplessness like he had last night again.

At least there was nowhere to go but up.


End file.
